


Protecting Yourself and the Ones You Love

by warcatscat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Fire, Other, Poisoning, Whump, graphic depictions of fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warcatscat/pseuds/warcatscat
Summary: Crowley stumbles upon a grizzly and confusing scene in the bookshop. Gabriel has decided enough is enough. How far will our Ineffable Husbands go to protect themselves?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	Protecting Yourself and the Ones You Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Nobody hurts Aziraphale if Crowley has anything to say about it.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/642334) by WhiteleyFoster. 



> Author is bad at summaries part ??? This work was inspired by the amazing works of WhiteleyFoster on Tumblr! This work would not exist without her absolutely gorgeous artwork!!! Pleas do yourself a favor and go check her out on Tumblr if you haven't already!!
> 
> (P.S. if you feel something else needs to be tagged, please let me know!! You can find me on tumbler @warcats-cat)

Typically speaking, Crowley  _ liked _ quiet,  _ thank you very much _ . Big fan of small, quiet, and preferably  _ dark _ spaces, Crowley was. With Aziraphale constantly doing his best to keep customers out of the shop and as far away as possible, and the back office space now filled with blankets and pillows and one or two plants had been deemed on good enough behavior to earn such a privilege; well,  _ that _ was Crowley’s favorite quiet place to be.

_ Especially  _ after Armageddon had been negated for the foreseeable future. Crowley had just about moved in.

This quiet was different.

The shop was always  _ humming _ , some celestial energy leftover from Aziraphale’s fussing; The books themselves absorbing  _ angelic love _ or whatever, and keeping their fragile pages from decay. Faint smells of tea, and biscuits, and the warmth leftover from someone’s wandering. Noises from computers and kitchen appliances and the wiring of a very old telephone. All filling the shop with its own life; a not-quite-silence.

This was a no-electricity-no-tea-no- _ fussing _ kind of silence. The kind that unnerved Crowley down into his semi-necessary bones. His footsteps on the carpet disturbed little swirls of dust; the heartbeat in his ears the loudest thing around.

“Angel…?” He asked the bookshelves; fearful of their answer. His voice seemed to echo among them, like schoolgirls mocking one another or a canyon bouncing voices off its face. Something heavy that Crowley really didn’t want to think about settled in the pit of his stomach. “Angel?” he tried again.

With no answer a second time, and the  _ thing _ in Crowley’s heart screaming panic, he began flicking out a long tongue to scent for Aziraphale. Biscuits and Cream and Cologne. It was always here, and even though it still  _ was _ here, and was relatively fresh, there was something  _ else _ too. Something decidedly  _ wrong _ .

Crowley took another deep breath; partially for smells, and partially to try and force his heart-muscles to  _ relax, bless it _ . There was something stronger, that  _ wrong _ thing, in the back, near the staircase leading upwards to the flat. The demon allowed his fangs to sharpen, nails sliding down into claws just so. He slunk towards the staircase with predatory intent’ quiet and determined. Hunting out whatever it was that didn’t belong.

_ Blood on the staircase – ash on the banister – the carpet is torn – Angel  _ loves _ that carpet – _

_ Blood. _

_ Blood _ . And Ozone. And Lilac perfume. Just a touch; but enough to smell stale and sickening.

_ Blood _ was never a good sign;  _ red _ blood because it meant the possibility of discorporation.  _ Gold blood _ because it meant something much worse.

The blood smeared over the walls of the staircase was deep read, but glittering faintly in the light spilling over from the bookshop. It looked like someone had taken a fat paint brush and just tossed it up right next to the wall over and over, leading to warped and almost feathery lines. The macabre painting was  _ almost _ enough to make Crowley sick. To make the demon turn back.

Standing at the staircase, he could feel more  _ wrongness _ in his chest. Whatever had happened was recent; within a few days’ time at the most. And it was deadly.

That was enough to push the demon forward, speeding up the steps and slamming, shoulder first, into the door before stumbling to get it open. “Aziraphale!” he was hollering, desperate, unsure what he would find and terrified of all the possibilities his overly-creative mind supplied. The closer he came to the door, the more he could smell the  _ blood _ , the  _ smoke _ , the  _ fear. _

Crowley charged forward, barreling through the door and crashing into a tall, broad back. He didn’t have time to assess the attacker, before scrambling across the floor on almost-all-fours to Aziraphale.

A low hiss caught in his throat upon seeing the angel’s condition. There were burns down his chest, and one on the right shoulder blade deep enough to be sluggishly oozing blood. His wings were out, and ruffled, but thankfully appeared unharmed; the blood on his wings looked to be coming from the wounds on his front, instead of the appendages themselves.

The angel was conscious, that was good; but he was clearly exhausted.

“Cr- Crowley! Run!” he yelled as he tried to push himself to his feet, almost shoving Crowley off balance in his haste. Wings flapped hard, splattering more red across the ceiling and floor. The demon turned, letting Aziraphale pull on one arm while Crowley took a defensive position; unfurling his own ebony wings as if to shield the angel.

Gabriel, Arch-Bastard himself. Standing in the doorway (with a slightly bruised shoulder) with fire burning to his right, and a long burn down his own arm. The fire licked around his coat and reflected in his eyes, dancing like death.

“I don’t think this is your business.” Gabriel said, low and even. “You should leave before I change my mind.”

Crowley let his fangs slip out, feeling his own power churning inside his chest. He raised his wings more, giving Aziraphale better defense as the angel recovered himself. There was little that Gabriel could do to  _ really _ make Crowley afraid, where his own corporation was concerned. The demon would protect Aziraphale to his dying breath. 

A life without Aziraphale was not a life worth living. 

Crowley made a low, grumbling hiss as Gabriel tried to step forward. He felt Aziraphale behind him; trembling fingers lightly holding his waist, betraying the Angel's exhaustion. There was no denying that whatever fight had happened had not been fair. Although Gabriel may have been superior in rank, Aziraphale was the superior fighter in every category. For the Archangel to have done this much damage, Aziraphale had to have been surprised. 

Too bad for Gabriel, Crowley  _ only _ knew how to fight dirty. 

Crowley threw himself at Gabriel, weaving under the Archangel's defensive arms and weaving around to his back before allowing his jaw to detach and clamping down hard on the back of the other's throat. Hopefully, a little venom would slow the Archangel down. Crowley had to flare his wings again to keep balance as the larger entity thrashed in pain; Aziraphale took the moment of disorientation to grab for some kind of weapon, ending up with a walking stick. 

Gabriel rammed his elbow into Crowley's ribs, dislodging the demon's hold (and potentially breaking a rib or two, but he'd worry about that later.) Crowley bent over to recover for a moment, watching with increasing desperation as Gabriel marched calmly to Aziraphale's place. 

"Drop your weapon, Aziraphale," he commanded. When Aziraphale made no move to do so, instead holding the walking stick defensibly across his body, Gabriel summoned his own weapon. Some kind of white fire appeared at the tips of the Archangel's fingers; something old and  _ definitely not good for either Angel _ . The flames danced around Gabriel's palms, producing strange noise and absorbing light instead of giving it. Crowley tried to charge the Archangel once more but was easily swatted away, thrown over the desk and knocking his head hard against the wood. 

Aziraphale thrust the walking stick forward, aiming for Gabriel's right wrist to knock the flames away. Gabriel tried to move out of the way, and in his moment of distraction, Aziraphale kicked his knees as hard as the Principality could, finally knocking Gabriel off balance. Aziraphale wasted no time in giving Gabriel a good whack, just in case, with the walking stick and grabbing Crowley's wrist before sprinting to the flat's doorway and almost flying back down the staircase. 

"What the HEAVEN wasss that?" Crowley hollered as they both stumbled into the street. "What the FUCK!" he yelled more eloquently. 

"I don't know!" Aziraphale cried back, slowing to a stop and leaning over panting. "But don't - Don't let him touch you! That fire isn't Hellish nor Holy, and I don't want to know what happens to you." 

"Aziraphale, why didn't you call me?" Crowley tried to support the Angel, shaking through he was, as he recovered. 

"I couldn't." Aziraphale answered quietly, "He burned my shoulders, Crowley, but more than that. I haven't been able to perform a miracle since I woke up this morning with him standing over me! I don't even remember falling asleep!" 

The old bookshop gave a great groan, followed by several loud cracks and pops. One of the windows from the flat above exploded in a shower of crystalline glass as the Archangel burst from the shop and spread massive, blood red wings. Gabriel landed easily on his feet and slipped his wings into the ether once more. It unsettled Crowley, how calm Gabriel seemed, despite his insistence just months earlier that anything less than perfectly and obediently angelic was dangerous as best, and blasphemous at worst. Something about the Archangel had certainly changed; his wrath no longer Godly, his intent no longer pure. 

Had Gabriel himself been split from the Host? Was he seeking retribution or revenge? 

_ Did it matter right now _ ??

Lilac eyes were alight with anger. The street behind him burst red with flames and blood. Crowley pulled Aziraphale close, readying himself for whatever the Archangel may try next. 

"Angel of the Lord," Gabriel's voice echoed throughout the streets, Holy Voice pounding the inside of Crowley's skull; "You are charged with abandonment of your post, abandonment of your values as an Angel, and abandonment of Her Light. How do you plead?" The Archangel raised a fiery fist once more. 

"He's done  _ everything _ to protect the humans from the START! And you're no better! What, She wouldn't let you push him over the edge so you decided to take it into your own hands?" Crowley screamed. This was less of an execution than Aziraphale had been given in Heaven; this was assassination. 

Gabriel ignored Crowley's outburst entirely, staring down the pair and moving closer with practiced ease. Crowley realized there was no way Gabriel was still a member of the Host at all; the  _ wrongness  _ he had been feeling the entire time in the bookshop was its own kind of Fall. The Archangel Gabriel had turned to Wrath for his revenge, since the Almighty had not deemed his anger justified. Gabriel was gone now. 

With an unexpected surge of power, Gabriel threw both Angel and Demon to the ground; Crowley skid across cobblestones as Aziraphale rolled back, ragdoll-like. The exhausted Angel probably had given out the last of his energy in the blast. 

Crowley scrambled over to where Aziraphale laid, just moments before Gabriel could reach the body. The Demon held himself up, protectively kneeling over Aziraphale despite his wobbling arms. Fangs bared once more as Gabriel reached down and lit Crowley's back with the fire of Wrath. 

The flames left ashes along his coat in their wake, but only burned exactly where they touched, unable to spread along the skin of a demon. Crowley swallowed his scream desperately, unwilling to give Gabriel the satisfaction of his pain. He flopped on top of Aziraphale's body, holding the Angel close, and offering as much of a shield as his spindly body could. He buried his face in his Angel's back, whispering soft platitudes of apology that he couldn't protect them. 

"Cute." Gabriel spat. "It's really cute. You think you love him. You think you could protect each other. It's cute. but misguided." Crowley refused to look up; the last thing he wanted was to admit defeat,  _ especially _ to this  _ bastard pigeon _ of an Archangel. He felt Gabriel wedge his foot under Crowley's stomach, trying to separate Aziraphale from him. Crowley hissed, low and long, tightening his grip. When Gabriel kicked him again, Crowley finally looked up; but instead of threatening the Archangel, he let his head morph into his massive snake form, and took another bite out of Gabriel, this time tearing apart the shin and calf of his left leg. 

Gabriel tried to yank his leg free, pulling Crowley off Aziraphale almost completely. The Demon let the rest of his body change, slithering along as Gabriel tried to shake him off. Gabriel grabbed either side of Crowley's upper throat, squeezing with strength he really had no business having, and twisting Crowley's slender body hard enough to break the thin bones of his spine, until Crowley had no choice but to release his hold. The snake was thrown hard back to the ground, dazed and sore, as Gabriel began to lose his carefully kept control over his emotions. Crowley continued to roll and slither backwards, pulling Gabriel farther away from where Aziraphale had lain, as Gabriel finally summoned a  _ real _ weapon. 

A great sword fit itself easily into his palm, but he held it without the ease Aziraphale had. He may have been given his weapon by the Almighty Herself, but he was never given the careful instruction and attention that Aziraphale's post required. Two swings made in hasty anger swung over Crowley's head, grazing but not damaging the scales of his brow. 

"I wanted to protect my Brothers from whatever blasphemy Aziraphale could bring! All I wanted was to protect my Family! And you two blockheads keep ruining EVERYTHING! I was sent away in DISGRACE! And now I have to PROVE MYSELF to return!" Gabriel was near hysterical now, slashing across Crowley's back as the snake tried to trip him with his tail. "I'll prove myself by getting rid of the two threats to the whole order of Heaven. More messy than I wanted, but Fine!" He shouted, kicking Crowley's face and knocking a fang free. 

It was possible Crowley's venom actually  _ was _ working; Gabriel was becoming more wild, yes, but his movements and swings were becoming less and less focused, and though the Archangel was able to land a few slashes, almost none were deep. 

"I am an Angel of the Lord! I was CHOSEN to carry her messages and deal out Her justice! I am not a FOOL --"

Gabriel's cry was cut into a gurgling scream as the head of a sword pushed through his stomach. He collapsed forward, revealing Aziraphale standing trembling behind him, eyes wet and streaming freely. 

All at once, the fires around the street went out; washing the world around the three in darkness. Crowley slithered forward to Aziraphale as the Angel knelt by his former brother. If Crowley heard him whisper a soft apology to the body, he chose not to acknowledge it. Gabriel's body continued to twitch and gurgle for a few minutes, before going still. 

Crowley coiled himself slowly around Aziraphale's shoulders and torso, providing weight. He heard Aziraphale murmuring soft prayers in the old language of the Angels. Sweet Enochian that was less than unintelligible to Crowley, and yet somehow brought him comfort. He nestled his great head against Aziraphale's neck, flicking his tongue to tickle the Angel's collarbone. If snakes could purr, he would have, if only to ease some of Aziraphale's guilt. 

Crowley knew first hand the pain of a Brother disowning you. He knew that, despite the abuse that Crowley was still trying to heal him of, Aziraphale had looked up to Gabriel from a very young age, before the world was an idea the Almighty wanted to test. He knew that Aziraphale would be mourning more than the loss, as well; the Angel hated violence, if it could be avoided. He wouldn't have called upon his own God-Given sword had he not been absolutely sure there was no other way to end the fight. And it was a stark reminder of how similar the two were; neither would use such force unless it was the other being threatened. 

Low grumbles of thunder rippled through the air overhead, and soft droplets of rain began to fall. The whole of the universe would mourn Gabriel, one of Her favorite Sons. The Host would weep for years. Only She knew what horrors would be released upon the world by those seeking revenge. 

And yet, Crowley felt at peace. Droplets of rain pattered around them, cleaning ashes and blood from their clothes, and seeming to mend wounds where they touched. She was not only mourning Gabriel's death; but his actions. Aziraphale was beloved too, after all. He would have Fallen if his behavior had gone against Her wishes. 

Gabriel's body dissolved into dust; returning to the stars and earth and ether. Aziraphale sighed, and wrapped his arms half around Crowley's sinuous body, lifting them both from wet pavement. Later, they would realize the bookshop was unharmed from Gabriel's fire; each book accounted for and unharmed, each drop of blood miraculously cleaned as if nothing had happened. Later, they would drink and Aziraphale would wail and Crowley would hold him tight (and maybe do a little yelling himself.) Later, they would order take-out and curl up on that overly soft couch in the backroom and hold each other in silent darkness, reassuring themselves that they were ok. The worst was over. 

But that was all for later. 

Right now, an Angel and a Demon would both find a cozy place to sit, and fall asleep like that; whether from exhaustion alone or something more profound, no one would need to know. 


End file.
